


the rite of movement

by redledgers



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Massage, Post-Season/Series 04, Sexual Content, Smut, Wings, Yearning, fuckruary2020, gentleness and sweetness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-18
Updated: 2020-02-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:35:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22789603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redledgers/pseuds/redledgers
Summary: “You’re beautiful,” he says, leaning to kiss the shell of her ear. He works up over her shoulder and brushes his fingers against the scar that she knows he will forever blame himself for.
Relationships: Chloe Decker/Lucifer Morningstar
Comments: 23
Kudos: 190





	the rite of movement

**Author's Note:**

> for the fuckruary prompt "massage". 
> 
> thank u to obli for the beta 800 years ago, i owe u my life.

His hands are warm against her skin, his touch feather light, and Chloe huffs a laugh into the pillow because she actually knows what that means now. What it feels like. Lucifer’s fingers curl at the nape of her neck, and he sits back. 

“Something funny, darling?” he asks, almost purring, and Chloe just shakes her head. She feels the mattress shift as he moves a bit closer, and he runs his palm down her back.

The next time he touches her, his hands are covered in warm oil, and he wastes no time smoothing it over her back, pressing against her muscles until she moans. “You’re beautiful,” he says, leaning to kiss the shell of her ear. He works up over her shoulder and brushes his fingers against the scar that she knows he will forever blame himself for.

“Mmm,” is the only sound she makes, and his rumbling response warms her, spreading through her veins like the bead of oil he chases down her waist. He catches it before it drips on his sheets.

“You are.” Though she cannot see him with her eyes closed and her cheek pressed against the pillow, she’s hyper aware of his movements around her, of each atom of his hands touching her back with equal parts reverence and suggestion. He smooths a palm over the curve of her ass before he climbs atop it to work at her muscles in earnest. “You are radiant, far more so than my favorite star. You are good, and yet you hold my heart all the same. And you are worthy of everything that anyone has to offer you.”

The pressure is heavenly, and Chloe can’t help but squirm just a little because she would like nothing more than to kiss him senseless. Instead she is trapped beneath his body and slowly turning to a puddle beneath his hands. He chuckles darkly, and she feels now his growing erection through the silk of his pants. “Though I would have been perfectly happy to oblige your desire for a masseuse without the bonus package…” He trails off when she wiggles again, and skates his hands down her sides. “Minx.”

“Thought I was worthy of everything there was to offer,” she replies.

Lucifer doesn’t bother to comment, not yet; instead, he climbs off to settle beside her again and she turns her head to look at him. Now he’s stretched out, propped up on one hand, while the other returns to her skin. “You are,” he says again, low against her shoulder, and he dances his fingertips at the place she would have wings, if she were an angel.

His fingertips chart a course down her spine, over the curve of her ass, across one thigh and then the other, dipping between her legs, but never touching. Her blood sings, and suddenly Chloe is finding it hard to relax, as if all his work to make her languid was undone by a single touch. And then it’s gone. By the time she opens her eyes to whine about the loss, he trails a finger through her soaking folds, and she squeezes her eyes shut with a moan.

“Hips up, darling,” he murmurs, his hand vanishing again, and she feels the softness of a pillow against her waist.

Instead of following his instruction, Chloe rolls over, settling on her back. She reaches for him with a smirk. His tongue flicks out to wet his lips as her gaze roves his body and she beckons him closer. “I believe you haven’t finished yet,” she says, taking pride in the way his body shifts toward her, as if he is unable to do anything but follow her commands. But he stops short of climbing over her again, and so she rests her fingertips against his stomach, content to feel his muscles beneath her touch.

“Haven’t finished what?” His own hand wanders toward her core again, a finger dipping to swirl around her clit. She can’t help but shift her hips against him.

“The massage,” she whimpers, her breath catching on the syllables and making him smile, the one he mixes with desire and love, the one that twists her insides up.

“And why do you think that?” His voice is low in her ear, and he noses her cheek, her jaw, pressing open-mouthed kisses down the curve of her neck and over her collarbone. Lucifer doesn’t relent, drawing lazy patterns across her folds, coaxing her to an edge he seems to have no intention of letting her fall from, not just yet.

By now, she understands how well he knows her body, her desires, even if she doesn’t speak them aloud. He’s learned to decipher her movements, the way her breath hitches, the way her eyelids flutter, and uses it to worship her the way she needs, the way she deserves. With a brush of his fingers or his lips, Lucifer just _knows_. She can’t remember what she was thinking prior to her comment, but it doesn’t matter anyway because his mouth is on her breast and his fingers are inside of her. And she is falling, scrabbling at his stomach and breathing his name with no more than a whimper. It crashes upon her like a wave and he does not let the tide recede until she is wrung out and breathless.

Lucifer licks and kisses his way back up her chest, kissing her lips before pressing his sticky fingers against them. He practically thrums when she sucks them into her mouth, and she feels the half aborted thrust of his hips against her thigh.

Chloe waits until he draws his fingers from her mouth to stretch languidly, and then reaches to cup his jaw. “You said something about an extra package?”

He shifts as if she is magnetic, lifting himself over her, and brushes his nose against hers. When he speaks, his voice is laden with the strain of keeping himself under control. “Was that not enough for you, darling?”

“It’s never enough,” she replies, and she hopes he catches the current of her words. That there would never be enough time, that she wanted all he would offer as long as he would give it. She rubs her thumb against his stubble, traces the cut of his jaw, down his neck and chest, until she dips her fingertips beneath his waistband. He bucks in earnest now, pressing against her hand like it’s a lifeline. Chloe can’t help but laugh just a little, moving her hand away before kissing the sad and desperate look off his face and tugging his pants down his thighs. “And you are worth it,” she says as he finishes discarding the clothing.

Lucifer looks at her like she holds the world, touches her cheek as if she would break if he pressed any harder. She smells the massage oil on his skin, smells her own scent, and catches his hand to press a kiss to his palm. “Come on, now,” she says softly, nudging at the small of his back until he moves of his own accord and presses into her.

To surround him is to hold the world, and she reaches around him to pull him closer even as he begins to move steadily, hips rolling as slow as either of them will allow. She runs her fingers down his spine. Lucifer’s wings manifest, spreading out behind him with all the grace and power that lives within his bones. His hips stutter, but it’s a betrayal he doesn’t seem to care about, and she buries one hand in soft feathers.

Outside, the city is bathed in gold, and she trails her fingers down the chiaroscuro that’s painted on his face, catches the sounds he makes with her hands and holds them tight.

“Chloe,” he breathes, tracing a pattern of an unnamed constellation across her skin, over her breasts and around the peak of her nipples. She arches for him, encouraging him with whimpers of _please_ and _more_ , and he buries his face in the crook of her neck, whispers, “I love you, darling,” until he can’t speak anything but the language of angels against her skin.

And she comes first, but barely, clenching around him only moments before he bottoms out and spills into her, wings snapping wide. When he stills, they come to rest around her, a cocoon of silk sheets and soft down and Lucifer nuzzling her collarbone. They rest together like that, until she grows too hot and presses her hand against his shoulder to nudge him aside.

“Enough?” he mumbles, shifting, but he doesn’t go too far. One wing settles over her body, and when she stretches, the tips of his feathers brush against her belly.

It is enough, this vulnerability. It is more than enough, but she can only muster a breathy laugh and card her fingers through gleaming feathers, trace their edges and follow the shadows that make them look like they are dipped in gold. “The whole package,” she says after a while, when his breathing has settled and his eyes closed.

“Good,” he replies, his voice so soft she fears it might be lost in the expanse of the penthouse. “Because I’d rather like to put the rest of your massage on hold for a shower.”


End file.
